


oh, there’s a show alright, but it may not be the one you want

by tielan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Captain America 4: Road Trip, Fluff, For Great Hilarity, Happy Ending, M/M, Maria Hill isn't paid enough for this shit, Past Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sam And Bucky Make Mischief, Someone Bring The Vacuum Cleaner Because This Fic Ending Is FLUFFY, Trauma, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vegas marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-06-10 03:24:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6937750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, after months of trying to keep you lot quiet and under the radar, you’ve managed to completely blow your cover, start a manhunt, and declare yourselves gay for each other in just over fifty hours.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, from [this tumblr post](http://tielan.tumblr.com/post/144741122499/3fluffies-tielan-samallcapswilson-imagine):
>
>> Imagine Sam waking up between Steve and Bucky- which while not out of the ordinary feels a bit weird for some reason today.
>> 
>> He places his hand over his face to block the sunlight streaming through the windows and is wholly distracted by the sunlight glinting off the ring on his finger.
>> 
>> His ring finger. On his left hand. FUCK.
>> 
>> In his truly Sam way he faces his problem head on and uses both legs to kick the two losers, who also happen to be his best friends, on either side of him awake.
>> 
>> Sam asks the only question he can ask here.
>> 
>> “Okay, assholes. Left hands up. Which one of you two life-ruiners am I married to?”
>> 
>> He really is taking it rather well, considering.
> 
> To which I promptly screeched "HOMG SAM/BUCKY!", whereupon **3fluffies** added:
>
>> (Sporfles!). And here’s the kicker: Bucky is just as shocked as Sam when he wakes up to wedded life!
>> 
>> You see, I has a Headcanon: Steve with Erskine’s perfected serum can’t get drunk. Bucky, given an inferior version (and his metabolism borked all to hell by 70 years of repeated cryo) can.
>> 
>> Sam, of course, is a mere mortal. So whilst in Vegas, Steve as designated driver/walker/cat herder pulled off an epic prank once his two best friends were drunk enough to declare, “I love you, mayun!”
>> 
>> Now they’re hung over and in their usual sober frenemy selves, and Steve gets popcorn to watch the show.

Steve is _still smirking_ when they pull into the motel on the outskirts of Bullhead City. Sam has gone sulky quiet in the backseat, and Bucky is still trying to get his mind around the goddamn ring on his finger – to say nothing of the mixed memories he has of last night.

He looks up from his musings just in time to spot a pair of legs leaning against a cherry-red convertible sitting in the parking lot and thinks, _Oh, sweet holy Jesus._

Then his gaze skims up and his stomach drops.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” says Sam, amused, “I don’t think she’d have you.”

Steve turns around in the driving seat, and his gaze could punch steel. “You called Maria?”

“Best person I know to get a guy outta trouble.”

“And boy are you lot in trouble,” Hill says, strutting over with a walk that makes a guy’s brain melt into his pants. She leans in the car window and holds out a tablet. “See, we’ve got _pictures_ of you two making the rounds after last night. Seriously, Steve, could you not at least keep them from groping each other in public?”

“I...uh...” Steve rubs a hand across the back of his neck as Bucky swipes through the photos, gaping slightly. He did _that_? In _public?_ “I chose not to.”

“You chose not to. In Las Vegas, of all places. Acceptance capital of the world, sure, but also gossip hotspot for the stars – among which, may I remind you, the Avengers are most definitely counted. And that’s not even counting the fact that the three of you breakfasted together, were seen taking in the sights together, _and_ got photographed driving out of Vegas together. So the current headlines...” She nips the tablet out of Bucky’s hands and opens something else before turning it around to display the headlines: _Captain America Polygamy Shock!_

Bucky stares at the picture, which shows the three of them standing around by the register at the breakfast diner, Bucky with his hands firmly in his pockets as he stares at the door, Sam grinning at the cashier in a way that makes Bucky want to wipe that smile off his goddamn pretty face, and Steve half-turned away, although his profile is perfectly visible beneath the bill of his cap.

“So, after months of trying to keep you lot quiet and under the radar, you’ve managed to completely blow your cover, start a manhunt, and declare yourselves gay for each other in just over fifty hours.” Her eyes glitter like sapphires in the falling dark. “Now, I have just over twelve hours to work out how to deal with you three – whether it involves sending you to Asgard so Thor can sit on your butts - and not in the good way, or quite possibly taking Ross’ advice, which is – surprise, surprise – to ice you two up good, and shove Wilson’s ass back in the Raft again.”

“You wouldn’t,” Steve tells her, narrow eyed.

“It’s a tempting thought.” She stands upright and hauls Bucky’s door open. “Now, get out and get whatever luggage you brought with you. And hope that the duty desk is male tonight.”

The duty desk  _is_ male. And practically slavers over the open throat of Maria’s shirt – right up until Steve walks in the door, a disguise mesh firmly across his face, puts his hands on Maria’s hips and pulls her back up against him. “Sweetheart? Is there a problem?”

Bucky sees the moment when she tenses, before she leans back against Steve, soft and sweet as honey, and gives Steve an answer that makes the duty desk scowl. He tilts his head towards Sam. “I didn’t want to ask, but what happened to the blonde?”

“Didn’t work out,” Sam says. “They tried to work through it, but if you ask me, it was too little, too late.”

“And Hill?”

“Hill plays it cool with everyone – she chills, but she’s chilly. But Steve likes working for it, and I think he’s under her skin enough to have an even chance, though it won’t be smooth sailing.” Sam’s smirk twists the corners of his mouth, a wicked tilt that makes Bucky suddenly think about leaning over and laying one on him. “Don’t you look at me like that.”

“Look at you like what?”

Sam steps back before Bucky can step forward. “I’m wise to your wiles, Barnes. Don’t try that on me.”

“In case you forget,” Bucky lifts his left hand, where the gold band sits gleaming against the silvery vibranium of the replacement arm the Wakandans made him. “You married me.” 

“And I’ve been regretting it all day.” Sam puts up a hand, getting it between them and on Bucky’s chest. “Especially now I’ve seen those pictures. Which I don’t remember at all, by the way.”

But his pupils are dilated and it’s not just the falling evening. And his breath’s coming a little shorter, and he hasn’t been running anywhere. And, sure, Sam’s pretty fast for a human, but Bucky’s faster and stronger, could have his mouth on that jaw before anyone could say—

“Can you two not keep your hands off each other for _five damn minutes_?”

Bucky smirks at Sam, their mouths mere inches away. “Saved by the Hill, Birdie Boy.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's always a bit of trepidation at writing the next section of a hugely popular piece. It never quite seems to live up to the hype. Nevertheless, this is what came out: Sam and Bucky shenanigans of the non-sexual kind.

Sam appreciates the view of Maria’s legs in the Daisy Dukes as she strides down the corridor to the set of rooms they’ve hired for the night – he’s bisexual and married, not dead.

“One double and one with two twins, connecting doors,” she says, handing Sam the little cardboard fold with their room keycards. “You three get to flip a coin on who’s sharing the double.”

Steve steps past Sam with a smirk. “I hate to break up the newlyweds.”

“Fucker,” Sam mutters beneath his breath, knowing Steve can hear him, not caring if Maria does.

Behind him, Bucky murmurs, even softer, “ _Opportunist_.”

Steve practically hustles Maria into the room, he’s following so close behind her. Her warning of ‘ _Rogers_ …’ is all they hear before the door closes. Anyone would think Steve was in a hurry.

“I hate him,” Sam remarks as he swipes them in. “Fine. Floor or bed?” They’re soldiers, they’ve slept on far worse. And, no, they’re not sharing the bed, because Sam needs time to think about this when he isn’t being distracted by the warm body beside him.

Bucky doesn’t answer, just surveys the room. The long, lazy stroke of his gaze takes in everything, from the television hung opposite the bed, to the far-distant door of the bathroom on the other side of the room – and includes Sam.

“Don’t get ideas,” he warns as those eyes skim over him like a pair of hands on his cock.

The problem is that now Sam’s seen the pics, he’s got hazy and explicit flashbacks of last night floating through his head: a wall against his shoulderblades and a mouth wet and sweet on his dick, soft hair scrunched loosely under his fingers, the scent of aftershave and sweat and lust riding the air, and the little moan Bucky made against Sam’s neck as he came in Sam’s hand.

“Too late.” Barnes smirks – the man’s smirk could be rated as weapons-grade – but stays exactly where he is. “Although I got at least _one_ I think you might like...”

Two minutes later, Sam knocks on the connecting door. “Hey, Steve, open up!”

Steve pulls the door open grinning. “How’s the honeymoon suite?”

“Hilarious.” Sam doesn’t have to feign the exasperation. He peers into the other room, feigning curiosity. Maria is sitting on the edge of the bed nearest the door, already on the phone; the bathroom door is open and their luggages aren’t even unpacked. Perfect. “Hey, you should see the goody basket in the bathroom. It’s something else.”

He hitches his thumb over his shoulder, and Steve walks in, looking a little surprised, but probably drawn on by Barnes’ grin.

Sam grins briefly at Maria, who rolls her eyes but doesn’t move from the bed. So he picks up his duffel and Barnes’ backpack, and walks through the connecting door into the other room and sets them down.

The slam of the door and the snick of the wedge under is his cue to get a move on.

“What—?” Maria stares at him as the bathroom door rattles. She still hasn’t quite clued in what’s going on, although she lunges for the luggage he picks up off the bed. “Wilson!”

Sam is reasonably sure he can take her, even with the luggage. Although if she reaches for her gun, shit is gonna get real. And maybe she won’t shoot him, but sometimes it’s hard to tell with Maria—

Then Barnes is there, all speed and grace and grin as he scoops her up, managing to pin her arms, and carries her through the open door to toss her onto the bed, where she sprawls with an ungainly squawk of outrage—

Sam grabs Steve’s duffle, and tosses it and Maria’s luggage into the room. The bathroom door is fighting a losing battle – it’s up against Steve, after all – but it’s giving resistance a red-hot go. And the situation is about to get dire, because Maria’s worked out what’s going on and has rolled off the bed.

Does _anything_ slow the woman down?

Sam ducks back through, dodging Barnes, who’s carrying something big and red and tosses it at Maria’s chest, slowing her down by forcing her to catch it. That gives Barnes just long enough to yank the outer connecting door closed, and hold it as she jerks at it from the other side.

He glances at Sam, grey-blue eyes full of mischief. “Ready?”

“When you are.”

Bucky lets go of the door; stepping back as Maria stumbles backwards into the room as her connecting door gives way. Sam swings the door on their side closed and flips the lock.

A moment later, there’s the rattle of the handle and the rap of knuckles against the door – right over Sam’s ear. He jerks back as Bucky hoots with laughter.

“She’s going to kill us, you know.”

Bucky snorts. “Nah.” His head tilts. “Steve’ll protect us from her.”

On the other side of the door, there’s the sharp snap of a gun’s safety being taken off. Sam tenses, seeing the same sudden flare of alarm in blue eyes. “You sure about that?”

“ _Maria? What—?_ ”

There’s a huff and a yelp and a thud on the other side of the door. “ _Rogers!_ ” Then there’s the sound of a safety being snapped back on and the thump of the gun being tossed to the bed.

“Yeah,” Bucky grins. “I’m sure.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was going to end in fluffy bunny sex. Unfortunately, given that this is me and that Bucky and Sam are Bucky and Sam...it's not quite going to end out that way...

Bucky’s about to move away from the door and near-death, when he overhears Hill’s next words.

“Get off me, Rogers.”

“If you promise not to kill them.”

“I can’t kill them just a little bit?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

Bucky can almost hear eyes rolling. “Get off, Steve.” There’s a moment of silence, then a sharp inhalation from Steve before Hill’s voice almost purrs, “Get. Off. Steve.”

The exhalation is long and slow, and Bucky blinks. He wouldn’t have thought Hill had it in her to—

Steve grunts – almost a groan, really – and it seems that Sam is right and Hill is under Steve’s skin enough to make him one part ornery, because the next noise from the other room is a squeak, feminine, before Steve growls, “Keep moving like that, Maria, and we’ll _both_ be getting off.”

Bucky can’t help the grin. He envies Steve his ability to attract women who are one part salty, one part spicy, one part she-might-shoot-your-balls-off-but-what-a-way-to-go! And it’s kind of nice to know that his buddy is learning how to deal with the dames – it only took a seventy-year snooze and a couple years extra for him to get with the plan.

Unfortunately, Bucky doesn’t have visuals, so he can’t _see_ what’s going on in the next room, but the stand-off – lie-off, perhaps? – makes it clear that _something’s_ going on—

The tap on the shoulder doesn’t surprise him, but Sam’s closeness does given the distance the other guy – his _husband_ murmurs an impish little voice – has been keeping all day. The expression is a question before Sam presses his ear up against the door.

Then all Bucky can see is the mouth, tilted in a faint, approving smirk as Sam comprehends what’s happening on the other side of the door.

The dark eyes flick up, and sudden realisation widens them—

“Oh, no, you d—”

The hand that comes up against his shoulder is not a protest – not when Sam’s mouth is moving in his, and his other hand is starting to curl around Bucky’s nape, and his hips are moving in grinding rhythm with Bucky’s—

_Oh, yeah,_ Bucky thinks as he lifts his mouth and looks into Sam’s eyes. The pupils are dilated and the sensuous mouth hangs slightly loose.

“Changed your mind?” Sam asks.

“Not unless you’ve changed yours.” Bucky tells him, and goes in for another kiss, before starting his way along Sam’s jaw. “Stop me anytime you like.”

Considering Sam’s idea of ‘stopping him’ involves getting his hands under Bucky’s t-shirt, he’s going with ‘anytime you like’ being equivalent to ‘when hell freezes over’ – or, at least, ‘not today’. Which suits Bucky fine when those hands are stroking up his sides, or curling long fingers over his hips to pull him in tight and close. He returns the favour by working his mouth down the long, strong throat inside the collar of the shirt, and dragging his metal hand up Sam’s spine. A bite down on the join of neck and throat makes the other guy jerk, arching sharp and firm into Bucky’s hips.

“Fucker!”

Bucky grins as he traces his lips along the collarbone and feels the man’s pulse jump. “Yeah, we’ll get to that. If you’re patient...”

Except that, in spite of his own words, he’s not feeling very patient when Sam drags his hands up Bucky’s sides. Bucky hustles them towards the nearest bed, stripping off his t-shirt as he goes. Sam, meanwhile, isn’t slow at getting his own shirt off, but his wrists catch in the sleeves and Bucky’s faster and stronger and has his hands at the zipper of Sam’s jeans before Sam can toss the polo shirt to the floor.

“Easy, man, go easy on the—” Sam makes a choking noise, and his breath drags harshly in his throat. “Fuck! Fuck! Okay. Left hand.”

Bucky looks up, his right hand already wrapped firmly around Sam’s dick. “What?”

“Left. Hand.” There’s a calm command in the words, and Bucky is in the act of switching hands when he realises— “It’s okay,” Sam tells him when Bucky pauses, the fingers of his metal hand frozen above the bold thrust of Sam’s erection out of the jeans’ opening. “You won’t hurt me.”

_How can you be sure?_ The words tremble on Bucky’s lips as he realises he’s already kneeling at Sam’s feet, unbidden, unthinking. And then there are fingers on his cheek, smearing tears – fingers which then scrape down his stubble in sharp reaction as Bucky grips him – not tightly, but not gently either.

Last night, he was pretty drunk, but not so much he didn’t know what he was doing.

This time, though, he’s sober, in his right mind, and he wants this – to be desired, yes, but more – to be  _trusted_ in desire, not just used.

And all the trust he wants is right there in Sam’s eyes.  _You won’t hurt me._

So Bucky drags his hand down the length of his husband’s dick and squeezes hard at the base, revelling in the rough moan, before he leans down.

_Mine_ , he thinks as Sam spills into his mouth minutes, or maybe hours later.  _At least for now._

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my Steve/Maria fans, I haven't abandoned them - there are just several stories in progress right now and they're all incrementally growing.

Sam pulls out of a well-fucked exhaustion to the steady-wash of the shower running and the knowledge that he messed up. Drunk and out on the town is one thing. Sober and knowing the score is quite another.

Isn’t this exactly why he’s been trying to keep his distance for the last few weeks?

_You done fucked up, Sam._

He climbs off the bed and hauls on his jeans – always face the music with at least some clothes on. It’s not until he pushes open the door that he realises that Bucky probably isn’t wearing anything if he’s in the shower...

Apparently clothed and in the shower is a thing. Long dark hair lies sodden against the sharp lines of Bucky’s head, water running in thick rivulets over the broad, scarred shoulders which heave with slow, steady breaths, and down the hollow of his spine before spilling over the waistband of his jeans.

 _Panic attack_ , Sam thinks, and pushes away the twinge in his stomach and his balls at the thought of what brought it on.

It’s been obvious for a while that Bucky’s trauma involved more than just being used as HYDRA’s assassin. Sam was in the military. He knows what happens far too often when power intersects with helplessness, has seen too many abused psyches splinter under physical trauma not to recognise the signs. Hell, he even laid it out for Steve in plain speech back when they were first looking at defrosting and deprogramming Bucky, still not entirely sure if the past relationship between them had been sexual or if it might turn sexual in the future.

_He was raped – mentally, yes, but with a high likelihood of physically, too. So any intimacy is likely to be a minefield._

Which questions why _Sam_ let himself get involved.

A question for later. After he’s dealt with the consequences of what he’s done here.

He reaches out and shuts off the water, and Bucky never moves, the line of his back bare and tan in the grubby beige of the bathtub.

“Hey,” Sam murmurs, and gets nothing more than the slightest shift of a head. He sums up the situation in a glance and lays a hand on the scarred should with its metal grafting. “Shuffle over.”

The muscle under his fingers tenses as he climbs over the bath edge and eases himself down crossways into the tub. Briefly, he wonders if he’ll be able to get back out again, but when Bucky’s hand comes up over his it becomes a secondary consideration. The metal fingers lace into his, rather more gently than one would expect of a vibranium prosthetic, even one designed by Wakandan technologists.

Sam takes that as a good sign.

“You’re not the Winter Soldier anymore.”

“Nobody makes me do anything I don’t want. I know” The broad shoulders lift and fall once, before Bucky gives him a sidelong look that seems to guess at all the things running through Sam’s head. “I wanted you.”

It’s a relief to hear. Even if Sam’s not entirely sure he believes it. “I remember that bit.” Sam nudges his shoulder. “But curling up in the bathtub, clothed... That’s not—”

He should be used to guys who move fast; he’s been friends with Steve for nearly four years now. But nothing in those years prepared him for going from wedged crosswise in a bathtub to sprawled along its length with Bucky’s mouth on his. And, oh God, yes, it’s hot, but it’s also not conducive to holding a discussion and he’s not _up_ to another round—

Bucky hasn’t even had his _first_.

The thought manages to penetrate through the dizzying haze of desire, and Sam has enough control to drag his mouth away, turning his face to the side so there’s no mistaking the signal to stop.

The body against his goes still, tensing. Then Bucky eases away with rigid control, his expression blank. “Sorry,” he says, and the tone is carefully flat. “I didn’t—”

Sam manages to grab Bucky’s hand as the other man starts to climb out of the tub – running away. “Barnes— _Bucky—_ ”

His grip slips – wet fingers against a wet wrist, and his feet have no purchase in the bottom of the bathtub and he’s falling backwards—

There’s a hand on his wrist, an arm under his legs. It takes Sam a moment to realise he’s been fucking well _swept up_ in Bucky’s arms and is being set down on his feet—

It’s the adrenaline rushing through him at the near-miss.

It’s the sharp fear lurking in the blue-grey eyes.

It’s the memory of Riley falling from the sky, helpless to do anything but watch.

This time, at least, Sam doesn’t have to watch the crash.

He lets his hands drift down Bucky’s chest, closes his fingers about the button at the top of his sodden jeans. It takes some doing to draw them down, although little enough persuading to get Bucky to step out of them. Then Sam leads him by the hand out to the bedroom, sits him down on the edge of the nearest bed, and leans in.

He coaxes Bucky’s head aside to kiss the stubble-roughened jaw. He grips Bucky’s knee as he works his way down the bared chest. He pushes Bucky gently backwards on the bed so he’s flat, his dick hard and swollen between his thighs, storms and lightning in his eyes as Sam closes his mouth over the tip...

The Winter Soldier gives head like a fucking _machine_ , but Sam can’t do that. All he has is tenderness for a man who hasn’t recieved all that much of it for the last seventy years.

Even Steve’s protection and defense comes with a price of sorts – the memory of two Brooklyn boys, one of whom became a hero, the other whom became a nightmare. That Bucky’s willing to pay that price doesn’t make it any less a cost. This, at least, Sam can give freely – pleasure, languourous and slow, with no thought of control or reciprocation.

It’s not much, but given the metal hand that cups the back of his head, the nub of the ring rubbing against the back-hollow of his skull, urging him on, it’s enough.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Bucky has a PTSD flashback of sexual abuse.

Bucky figures the nightmares are repayment for what he did all those years. He may not have had control over what he did, but his body and his mind remembers what was done, and the horror of it replays through his head over and over and over again.

Some nights are better than others.

Being back in the US with Steve and Sam has helped, or maybe it was just that he could keep the nightmares at bay with their laughter and their easy comfort.

Tonight, it’s not enough.

He would have liked to share the bed with Sam, had a moment when he contemplated asking the other man (his lover, his legally wedded spouse) to share...

_Don’t get ideas._

He got more than ideas. He got his mouth on Sam’s body, got down on his knees, got comforted and teased and coaxed into letting Sam blow his fuse. Except that Sam was careful afterwards. A little bit jokey at dinner, casual and charming with Hill, easy with Steve, all the while avoiding meeting Bucky’s gaze.

So he strips off and settles down between the sheets, and listens to Sam tapping away on his phone, contacting his cousin and probably putting out fires regarding that article. It’s...pleasant, with a comforting domesticity to the evening. The only thing that would make it better would be to have Sam in the bed, weighing down the mattress beside him...

He sleeps. He dreams. And an infinity of memories crash against the nutshell of his sanity.

He’s bound and tied on a rough pallet, shaking in painful exhaustion and horrific ecstacy, his body betraying him with pleasure, over and over, as someone laughs—a room full of someones...

He’s blank and empty until they fill him with words, one thing to focus on, one thing to do, only there’s a crashed car – or several of them – and a man— _I knew him—_ and a woman, too...

He’s in the chair and screaming as they wipe him clean again. Only this time, he knows what he’s losing – life, memories, existence, friends – Steve, Natasha, T’Challa,  _Sam—_

Light floods the room. “Bucky?” The world is outlines – sharp shadows and effervescent afterimages – and he tears his hands free of the bindings, rearing up from the bed. A man comes at him from the side and is thrown across the room. There’s the crack of wood giving way, and another man coming at him, and he swings—

This guy is fast, he  _ducks_ — “Buck, wake up!” Memory scrapes at him, and the voice starts to bleed through his panic—

Then her voice snaps through his head like a whip, bringing him to full attention. “ _Barnes_ !”

The afterimages fade, reforming to the motel room, Steve ready to take him down, Hill holding a gun steady on him, and Sam levering himself up from the floor, propping himself up with the other bed.

Their eyes meet, and although Sam hides it swiftly as he sits down on the bed, Bucky still sees the wince of pain.

“I’m sorry.” The words are dust in his mouth. He may not be the Winter Soldier anymore, but he’s still a weapon, more than capable of hurting someone he cares about...

He drops his head into his hands, and the ring shifts against the metal of his hand, a painful reminder of what he does and doesn’t have. A monster, yes, but still a man; married, and yet...

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Barnes.”

Bucky lifts his head, startled – although he can’t say it doesn’t warm him, too: at least someone understands that kindness would be more of a cruelty right now. Then he blinks. The totality of Hill’s clothing is a loose, light t-shirt and a pair of panties; her legs go on forever, her hair is loose, and her hands are wrapped around the stun gun that she hasn’t quite lowered yet.

And maybe it’s the adrenaline, but hot as hell doesn’t even  _begin_ to cover it. 

Steve is giving her a sharp look for her lack of sympathy – or possibly for her lack of legwear. And laughter quivers in Bucky’s chest, before he lets it out in a trembling gasp and a reckless quip. “So, Hill, are you going to use that weapon on me, or just tease?”

“Don’t tempt me,” she retorts and turns to look at Sam, who’s gotten back to his feet. “Injuries?”

“My ego might be a bit bruised, but I’m fine.” He looks directly at Bucky, and the compassion and understanding in his eyes burns. “I know better than to interrupt a PTSD flashback. I just...forgot.”

“Well, remember better next time.” 

“Maria.”

She glances at Steve, who’s frowning at her. “Well, he should.” Then she looks at Bucky. “I presume it was a flashback of some kind. Are you likely to relapse?”

Bucky swallows, grateful she didn’t ask what. “I don’t know.”

“He won’t.” The certainty in Sam’s voice is terrifying, an absolute trust. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

“Are you sure?” Steve looks from Sam to Bucky. “Do you need help?”

Hill, meanwhile, is studying Sam, her eyes narrowed. She looks at Bucky, then back at Steve. “They’ll be fine, Rogers. Let’s leave them to it.”

Somewhat surprisingly, Steve starts moving, apparently trusting Hill’s estimation as much as Hill trusts Sam. Then he stops, turning back to Bucky and asking, “Buck?”

He doesn’t smile – Steve would see through it in a moment – but he manages to sound reassuring when he feels nothing of the sort. “I’m fine. Swear to God.”

That seems to satisfy Steve, at least enough that he allows Hill to propel him out of the room. The closing door cuts off her  _sotto voce_ comment of, “You can’t give him what he needs right now—”

And that leaves Bucky with Sam and an uncomfortable silence.

“I triggered a memory, didn’t I?” Sam asks the question with a quiet acceptance that Bucky recognises only too well – guilt and pain and regret, albeit on a different scale. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Shut up.” It comes out rough and harsh, before Sam can say he regrets having sex with him. “I wanted you as much as you wanted me. It’s not—It’s nobody’s _fault_.”

There’s a moment when it looks like Sam wants to argue the point. Then he shakes his head and pulls back the bedcovers of Bucky’s bed. “It’s too late for this. Shove over.”

Bucky stares at him. “What?”

“Move over. We’re sharing.”

“I nearly killed you—”

“You couldn’t kill me back when you were trying to kill me.” Sam nudges his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure you won’t now. Stop being melodramatic and shove over.”

The droll statement is shock enough that Bucky starts moving, before he stops. “Are you sure?”

“Unless you’re kicking me out,” Sam says, pulling at the sheets, “Yeah, I’m sure. Oh, wait, the light...”

He climbs out, turns off the bedside light on the other bed, and climbs back in again in the darkness, a shadow in trackpants and a threadbare Air Force t-shirt lying down beside the man who threw him across the room not ten minutes ago.

_Left hand. You won’t hurt me._

It’s not the first time Bucky has rested in someone else’s trust. But Steve was different – old, familiar, tried, and tested. This is Sam, and what they have is still new and fragile...

Still new enough that he agonises for a few, brief seconds before shuffling back across the bed to curl up against the warm, lean body of his husband, and succumb to the warmth of something he doesn’t want to look at too closely. Not right now. Maybe in the morning.

_Mine. His._

Bucky closes his eyes, inhales the warm scent of Sam, and falls asleep in minutes.

 


	6. Chapter 6

There’s always a morning after.

Yesterday, it involved a wedding ring and surprise. This morning it involves a heavy arm around Sam’s waist, and his husband’s face practically buried in his armpit. It’s not all that comfortable for Sam – but it feels...right.

He doesn’t want to disturb Bucky, so he just lets his eyelids drift back down again and revels in the weight and warmth against his side, the smell of sheets that have been slept in, fucked in, the steady sound of breathing... He could get used to waking up like this. Maybe not in motel rooms on the run, but with Bucky, day in, day out.

How long he lies there, he doesn’t know. Long enough for his bladder to announce that it needs relief. Which means easing himself out without trying to wake—

Bucky grunts and rolls over onto his back, freeing Sam to go to the bathroom, and when he comes back, Bucky is sitting on the far edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped.

The pose isn’t exactly encouraging, but Sam figures he might as well go for upbeat. “Good morning, sunshine.”

“Hey.” Bucky turns as Sam climbs back into bed. His gaze flicks up to Sam, then drops away again. “I... After last night... We might want to think this marriage thing over.”

Sam’s first instinct is _What?_ And his second is _No!_

What he _says_ is, “Okay.” And then, “Well, it’s just a Vegas marriage, it’s not that difficult—”

“I mean we could think about making it _work_.” Bucky’s gaze lifts from the bed. “I know last night wasn’t a particularly good experience. I’m not—I’m not—”

“You’re a vet with PTSD,” Sam says, latching onto the thing that doesn’t send him spinning. “So am I. Yeah, that complicates it, but it’s doable. And we’ll deal with the rest as it comes. Okay?” He puts a hand down on the covers between them, and after a moment, Bucky’s fingers thread through his and his smile is slow and dangerous.

“Deal.”

Sam tugs him in, and this kiss has time for fingers to brush across cheeks, for lashes to lift and gazes to meet, for mouths to taste and test their shapes—

There’s a knock at the connecting door.

On cue, Sam’s stomach rumbles.

They break apart, smiling. “Guess we better let the babysitters in.”

“They can let themselves in,” Sam says, lifting his voice to carry to the next room. “Seeing as _someone_ broke down the door last night...”

“Vandals,” Bucky adds as the door opens and Steve peers through.

“Hey.” He looks a little sheepish as he comes in, and when Maria walks in behind him, she looks exasperated.

“Steve,” she says, saccharine sweet, “has a confession to make.”

Steve shoots Maria’ a pleading look but she only tilts her head a little. And Sam thinks that watching their buddy navigate a woman who can’t and won’t be charmed would be more than worth the price of the tickets, although possibly not worth Maria’s displeasure.

“I...uh...I bought the rings. Which is probably why there’s the headlines about us. You’re not actually married – I mean, there was no chapel – I stuck them on you for a laugh—But the photos are real – the ones people took and which are all over the internet...”

It’s a few seconds before all this sinks in. Then there’s a hollow pit in Sam’s stomach – they’re not married, it was all a sham, Bucky isn’t his husband—

“Steve!”

“Look, I’m sorry, but you guys were...enjoying yourself, and I thought...” Steve drags a hand through his hair and exhales. “Okay, maybe I didn’t think.”

“Even supersoldiers do dumb from time to time?” Maria looks like she’s about to pull a weapon and shoot him. “Say it ain’t so!”

Steve grins and holds up his hands. “You already knew that, Maria.”

“It’s nice to have it confirmed every now and then...”

Sam heads _that_ off at the pass. “Flirt later, you two, we’re having a marriage crisis.”

“Except there is no marriage,” Maria says. “Therefore there is no crisis.”

“Yeah, about that...” Bucky turns to look at Sam with a quick, tentative look that turns into the start of a smile. “We don’t have to be married.”

“We don’t. We can just live together in sin.”

Steve coughs. “So, you decided that you wanted to stay together?”

“Just this morning.”

“That’s the crisis.”

Steve grins, but Maria interrupts before he can get any congratulations out. “Spare us the gory details. Please.”

“You can spare her, you don’t have to spare _me_.” Steve’s smirk is ridiculous.

In contrast, Maria’s eyeroll is _epic_ . “Whatever. Be married. Don’t be married. You’re private citizens and I have no desire to know except insofar as it makes my job more difficult. Not that it could get much worse than it already is.” She moves over to Steve, and seems to be fishing something out of his back pocket. The casual intimacy has Sam narrowing his eyes, which means he doesn’t see the keys flying through the air until Bucky snatches them out of the air with a metallic clink. “So, here’s where we split up. You’re taking the Focus. You are to head up north-east, and lay low. You both know how; I expect you to actually _do_ it this time.”

“Where are you two going?” Bucky asks.

“And without a chaperone?” Sam adds, lifting an eyebrow.

Maria glares at them. “I’m going to be quietly escorting him out of the country while you two have your ‘honeymoon’. When you’re done sightseeing and sexxing – in about two months’ time – I’ll send someone to pick you up. In the interim, don’t get pulled over by the law. Don’t get arrested. Don’t break anything that you can’t fix...” She turns to look at the broken connecting door lock and her shoulders heave in a sigh before she turns back to them. “Try to avoid outing yourselves.”

“And I was thinking sex in a public place sounded like fun.” Bucky drawls with a smirk.

“I mean, doing something heroic and sacrificial.”

“Says the woman escorting Cap halfway across the country,” Sam observes. “But, okay, sure.”

Her mouth twitches before it straightens and thins. “Don’t give up your day job, Wilson. Oh, wait. You already _did_. That’s what got you into this mess in the first place!”

“Ouch.”

“Ouch.”

“Be good, and if you’re not, then avoid having photos taken of it.” And so saying, Maria sashays triumphantly out of the room.

Well, maybe not _sashays_ , because this is _Maria_ ; but given the way Steve watches her, she might as well be swinging her hips.

“Good luck,” Bucky murmurs to Steve. “You’re gonna need it.”

“Thanks,” Steve looks back at them. “You guys’ll be okay?”

“We’re big boys, we can look after ourselves.” Sam tilts his head at Bucky. “Right?”

“I’m looking forward to it...” Bucky leans in and his mouth is firm and sweet and eager—

Being broken, the door doesn’t quite _snick_ closed behind Steve, but at that point, they’re beyond caring. And this time, the sex is slow and determined and tender – lovemaking, really, not just fucking.

Even with his hands and his mouth fully occupied, and his brain rapidly losing blood to his dick, Sam knows this won’t be easy – love never is. But they’ll make it work and deal with the rest as it comes.

* * *

Two hours later, driving along an interstate with the wind through the wound-down window making a tangle of his hair, Bucky’s settled into the miles, the weight of the ring on his finger, and Sam in the passenger seat. There was a brief argument about who was driving, before Maria reminded them that being pulled over for driving while black wasn’t conducive to staying off state trooper radar anywhere in America these days.

This has left Sam with plenty of time to man his cellphone and navigate where they’re going, while Bucky drives. And right now, Sam’s fingers are flashing over the screen of his cellphone a little too fast to be an internet search for tomorrow night’s motel. “Are you texting Steve? Or Hill?”

“Steve. They’re headed south – apparently Maria has contacts in Mexico.”

“I think that woman has contacts in Antarctica.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.” The cell beeps as a message comes back. “Steve says they’ve just stopped to take the top down,” Sam says, and taps in a ridiculously fast response before he presses send.

Bucky eyes him. And, after a grinning moment, Sam shows him the message he’s just written.

_Going down = not just good for convertible tops._

Even as Bucky watches, a return message from Steve pops up. _Shut up and fuck your not-husband._

He laughs out loud. So does Sam when he reads the message. “Well, if it’s Cap’s orders...”

* * *

Years later, they will tell their grandchildren of the time they nearly got arrested acting illegally on the interstate under Unca Steve’s orders, while carefully avoiding detailing exactly _what_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, six months ago, I spotted a prompt and dashed off a little humourous ficlet to it. The response was rather more enthusiastic than I expected, and from it the story sprang - if not fully-formed, then at least reasonably-shaped. I am now a confirmed Sam/Bucky fan. 
> 
> Thank you so much to people who initially commented on this fic - if you hadn't told me you enjoyed it, I would never have been motivated to write more.


End file.
